


Sequined Shirts and Silver Bullets

by nichristi



Series: Free Will or Die Hard [1]
Category: Die Hard (Movies), Supernatural
Genre: BAMF everyone, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Sam Winchester's Visions, Wee!chesters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-11-10
Packaged: 2018-02-07 16:26:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1905810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nichristi/pseuds/nichristi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1988. John Winchester follows a lead on the thing that killed Mary to a high falutin' Christmas Party in Los Angeles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. All I Want for Christmas is You

**Author's Note:**

> Die Hard and Supernatural do not belong to me. They belong to people that are more wealthy than I am. I just needed an excuse for John McClane to be one of the Winchesters' old hunting buddies. Don't judge me.

Life is not kind to the Winchesters anymore. Hasn't been for a while now.

John tries to make life as good as possible for his boys. He really does. But he can hardly look at Dean without seeing Mary in those green eyes and Sammy...well.

Sam has her brains and his stubbornness and sometimes, when both boys tilt their heads just so and smile just right, it’s like having two little Marys staring daggers into his soul. Some kids might get spoiled that way.

Not Sam and Dean.

When they get to looking like that, the guilt gets dredged up all over again and John vows that his boys will know how to defend themselves from what’s out there. He’s terrified that in a single moment of weakness, he’ll look up and see one of his babies on the ceiling.

So he trains them.

Well.

He trains Dean. Sammy’s only five. He looks at the world differently. John wants to keep it that way as long as possible and with any luck, this job will be the last one he ever does and they’ll all get something nice for Christmas; a chance to move on.

* * *

John doesn’t want to think about the fact that it’s Christmas Eve.

So he doesn’t.

He focuses on Dean waxing lyrical about Hollywood and movie sets and Star Wars and Dad, do you think we’ll see William Shatner? John makes a mental note to drive down Sunset Blvd. before they leave L.A.

Sam’s looking out the window at a giant skyscraper, completely ignoring his big brother. Out of the blue, he asks, “Daddy, why do they make buildings like that? Someone could fall out the window or something.” Dean stops his lengthy monologue and stares at Sam, frustrated that his little brother would interrupt him like that.

John opens his mouth to stave off an argument before it even begins, but Dean beats him to it, “You can’t fall out of a window like that, stupid. They don’t open.”

Sam shoots right back, “But what if all the windows break? How do people keep from falling out then, huh?”

Dean tenses and spits out, “They don’t go near the edge, duh.” Sam rolls his eyes. Dean sticks out his tongue.

John cuts them off before he has to pull the car over. “Boys, that’s enough. I’m gonna- WHOA!”

He slams on the brakes and honks his horn as a long black limo cuts him off. The limo driver looks around frantically then turns down a street with a sign pointing to the airport.

John bites his tongue and pounds the steering wheel a few times before making sure his kids are okay. Dean’s a little pale, but seems fine. Sam, on the other hand looks like he’s seen a ghost.

And that’s intended literally.

He pulls into the next gas station he sees and sits at the pump for five minutes before getting out and filling the tank. He lets the boys squeegee the windows to get their minds off the almost accident. Dean lights up immediately. Sam calms down, but remains quiet.

It’s good enough for John.

* * *

 

Paulina arrives at the McClane house every morning at 6:30 sharp. She is greeted by two smiling children and their mother Holly when they sit down to breakfast. She always sets an extra place at the table for Mr. McClane. Just in case.

Holly acts like she doesn’t notice.

When Mr. Takagi suggests that they invite Mr. McClane out from New York, Paulina doesn’t call too much attention to it. She makes up the spare bedroom and cleans all the china in the cabinet.

Mrs. McClane doesn’t comment.

She leaves for work with a resigned smile and a kiss to her children.

* * *

 

Paulina puts the finishing touches on the mixed berry pie and is just about to slide it into the oven when the phone rings. It’s too early for Mrs. Holly’s lunch break so she shakes her head at little Lucy and reaches for the phone.

“Hola?”

The man on the other end of the line sounds relieved and a little strangled as he chokes out, “Paulina?”

She never thought she’d hear that voice again. “Senor Winchester?”

“Yeah, Paulina, it’s me. Listen, I’m in L.A. on business and I was wondering if you could watch the boys for me. For old times’ sake.”

“How did you know I was here?” she asks, still stunned at the voice from the past.

“Missouri,” he answers simply and that explains it. Paulina’s mind floats back to before she worked for the McClanes in New York. She had been a nanny in Kansas when the Winchesters' house burned down. The Winchesters had stayed at her apartment for a few weeks then disappeared after Mrs. Winchester’s funeral.

It had been a bad business all around and Mr. Winchester was more than distraught. Finally, she had pulled him aside and told him about a friend who’d helped after her husband had passed. She handed him Miss Missouri’s card and told him to call her.  That was the last time she’d seen him.

Paulina sighs and looks at her charges, playing on the living room floor. She cannot imagine them without a place to stay, especially on Christmas Eve. Mrs. McClane is a kind woman. She would not turn them out. “Do not worry, Senor Winchester, I watch them.” He sighs in relief at the other end.

“Thanks, Paulina, I owe you so much for this.”

“Is no problem, Senor John. I would like to see the boys again. Little Sam is five now, yes?”

“Yeah. Dean’s nine. Look just like their mom, y’know?”

“I am sure. When will you bring them?”

“How about an hour?” She rattles off the address and utters a heartfelt goodbye before replacing the phone in the cradle.

* * *

 

Holly phones home at 12:30 sharp every afternoon.

Lucy always answers the phone with a polite, “McClane residence, Lucy McClane speaking!” and Holly always answers with a happy, “Hello, Lucy McClane, this is your mother speaking.” It’s a little routine that helps keep her sane and lifts her spirits in the middle of a long day of trades, meetings, and sexual harassment.

She sinks into her chair at 12:29 and dials the phone. Lucy picks up and Holly listens to her youngster happily chattering about pie and surprises and Santa. In the background, she hears Paulina scolding Jack about something or other and smiles. When a few minutes pass, she asks her baby to put Paulina on the phone. Lucy shrieks a happy, “Paulina!” and hands the phone off. Soon, the comforting lilt of her nanny overtakes the sound of happy children, “Hola, Mrs. Holly.”

“Hi, Paulina. How are things on the homefront?”

“Is good, Mrs. Holly. You will be staying late for the party, yes?”

“Yeah. I’ll call back around dinnertime.”

“Okay, Mrs. Holly. I can ask question?”

“Of course, Paulina.”

“You remember my employers in Kansas, si?”

“The one whose house burned down?” Huh. They haven't talked about this in years.

“Si. He call today and wonder if I watch his children. They are Jack and Lucy’s age and wonderful boys. I can bring them over?”

Holly sighs and smiles a little. Paulina has the biggest heart in the world and wouldn’t turn away anyone in need of a place to stay. Especially on Christmas Eve. “Of course, it’s alright, Paulina. Will they be staying for supper?”

“Si. Their father is in town on business. He should be finished tonight.”

“Okay. I’ll call back around dinnertime, alright?”

“Si, Mrs. Holly.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Mrs. Holly.”

Holly hangs up and shakes her head. If she’s not careful, she’ll end up taking in the whole world this Christmas.

* * *

 

Sam stares in awe at the big collection of books in Miss Paulina’s house. Well, Daddy said it wasn't _her_ house, but she worked there and they’d go home with her until Daddy finished his job.

Then they’d all have Christmas together.

Dean said so.

And Dean never lies.

Ever.

Two kids look at them awkwardly from across the living room and Sam doesn’t miss how Dean steps in front of him a little, sending a clear message of, “If you mess with him, I will rip your lungs out.”

A heavenly smell wafts through the house and Sam can feel Dean’s eyes go wide as Miss Paulina calls, “Who wants pie?” from the kitchen. Dean, Lucy and Jack immediately stop staring at each other and fly to claim their share.

Sam stays behind.

He’s still a little shaken up from all the crazy things happening today. First, that really bad headache that woke him up this morning, then the weird dreams.

Then the dreams coming true.

Since when do dreams come true, anyway?

He walks over to the bookshelf and picks up a book from the bottom shelf: a bright colored book called Fox In Socks. He flips through it and tries to let the rhymes and tongue twisters take away the sense of dread.

Just as the Tweedle Beetles begin a Battle with paddles in puddles on noodle eating poodles and Sam’s head gets to spinning a little too fast, Dean calls from the kitchen, “Sammy! You’re missing the best pie EVER!”  

Sam sighs with relief and shakes his mind back into line. He snaps the book shut and goes to join his brother. Pie might be just what he needs.

Dean says that pie fixes everything.

Dean’s always right.

* * *

 

John McClane really wants to see his kids this Christmas, but he’s not sure the bad guys will let him.

Maybe he should call the house and check in.

Nah, why get their hopes up? If he goes, it’ll be a surprise.

Not that Holly’ll see it that way. He can just hear the conversation now, “You care more about your job than you do your own family!” But then if he brings up the fact that she’s the one that left in the first place, then God forbid, right?

He sighs and shakes his head and tries to focus on the report in front of him. His desk phone rings and he snatches it up.”McClane,” he snaps.

“No shit, dumbass!” says a gruff voice on the other end of the line.

“Cappie!”

“Yeah, man, what are you still doing there? Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

“Well yeah, but I got some bad guys to catch too, Cap!”

“Bad guys can wait, John. Listen, if Holly don’t want you stayin’ there, I got a house out in Pomona. Come on out to the coast, man! We’ll shoot the breeze. Have a few laughs. God knows you need it! Now get your ass in gear!” The line goes dead. John rubs his temples and picks up his pen again.

“McClane!”  John curses under his breath and looks at his new, currently not-retired captain. “Get outta here! Go catch that lady of yours! The precinct’ll be fine withoutcha!”

John takes the hint. He grabs his coat, badge, duffel bag, and the giant teddy bear he's hoping he doesn't have to ship and ducks out of the precinct before God Himself picks his ass up and drags him to the airport.

* * *

 

John Winchester stops by the library after dropping the boys off at Paulina’s. Thank God he has a good place for them to stay this time. Bobby’s great and all, and Jim’s a godsend, but they’re both busy right now on some gig in New Mexico so he had to bring them along.

Paulina is light years better than some seedy motel in the Los Angeles underbelly. Thank Christ Missouri called to tell him she was in L.A.

John takes a deep breath and walks into the library. He fires up the microfiche and pulls up his lead on the thing that killed Mary and ruined their lives.

Apparently, there have been some weird things going on at the Nakatomi Plaza. Lightning storms, construction accidents, employees suddenly getting into drugs; whatever’s going on down there, it’s real similar to what happened in Lawrence five years ago.

Not to mention Sam’s weird behavior.

Oh, he noticed when Sam woke up screaming the past couple days.

Besides.

Five-year-olds aren't supposed to get head-splitting, faint-inducing migraines.

The evidence is circumstantial but that’s the life. He has to get in there, and the Holy Day suggests it has to be tonight. He scrolls down a little further in the exposition on the Nakatomi Company and notices a list of artifacts that the CEO possesses. A lot of them are religious relics. He takes out his journal and makes an entry on the different possibilities; demon, pagan god, and so on. 

He switches off the microfiche and makes his way out the door.

He pops the trunk and checks his arsenal twice.

This thing is going down.

Tonight.

That’s a damn good Christmas present if he says so himself.


	2. A New Old Fashioned Way

Dean’s worried about Sam. Granted, that’s pretty par for the course, but Sammy doesn't wake up from bad dreams like that. He doesn't get headaches. He might be a nerd, but he doesn't freak out about buildings falling down or limos cutting them off or Dad acting funny. That’s what Dean does.

He tries to ignore it. He shoves it down with Miss Paulina’s awesome pie and Christmas Cheer. Then he notices Sammy’s not there. He’s probably reading, but still. Kid’s five. He shouldn't read that much anyway. He hollers at the top of his lungs for Sammy to get in there and eat some pie. He expects the little snot to snark back or drag himself in like pie’s the Devil in disguise.

But no.

Kid barrels into the kitchen and gobbles down two big pieces. Dean barely has time to think. That’s not like Sam. Not at all. He’s a health nut. It makes him just a little more of a weirdo, but it’s Sammy. Dean makes a mental note to talk to him about it later.

Turns out, Sam’s the one who approaches Dean. When Jack and Lucy dart out of the kitchen, Sam tugs on his arm, “Dean?”  


“Yeah, Sammy.”

“I- I’m scared.” Sam’s eyes go wide and frantic. Dean’s taken aback.

“What’s up?”

“You know my bad dream?” 

“Yeah…” _How could he forget?_

“It’s coming true.”

 _Wait. What?_ “That’s impossible dude,” Dean lies. He doesn't like it, but Dad doesn't want Sam to know about the scary stuff yet. Dean can’t blame him.

“No, Dean! Listen! I dreamed about a party. Daddy was there. Then bad guys came and blew it up. There was a limo crash, and people fell out of the windows, and there was this man. He had yellow eyes. I couldn't-” Sam choked off a sob. “I couldn't stop them, Dean!”

Dean pulls his little brother into a hug and whispers, “It’s okay, Sammy. It’s just a dream. Nothing’s gonna happen to Dad. He’ll be home for Christmas. I promise.”

Sam sniffs and mumbles into his shirt, “Pinky swear?”

“Pinky swear.” Dean hopes it’s a promise he can keep.

* * *

Nakatomi Plaza is nice. Like there’s a full on waterfall on the thirtieth floor nice. John Winchester steps out of the elevator and moves to blend in with the crowd. The scene around him is raucous. Normally uptight businessmen and women have devolved into a bunch of drunkards. Judging by the watered down champagne, they’re all either lightweights, or they’re well on their way to ridding the world of bad liquor. John loosens his tie and commences canvassing the party for any signs of evil. He blesses the waterfall and discreetly sweeps an EMF meter around the whole thirtieth floor, flirting the whole time. It feels wrong. But it gets information, so he does it.

Eventually, he ends up in conversation with an overly obnoxious man named Harry Ellis who’s obviously torn by his jealousy over the new lady director and the desire to bang her. John tries his hardest to politely extricate himself from the situation, but to no avail. Finally, the president of the company, Mr. Takagi, quiets everyone and congratulates them on a successful year. The elevator dings and a pretty woman steps out, head buried in a file. Ellis excuses himself and suddenly, John is torn between drawing attention to himself and saving the woman from the overt douchebaggery. He sighs and follows Ellis down the hall. “Harry, it’s Christmas Eve! Families...Stockings...Chestnuts? Rudolph and Frosty? Any of these things ring a bell?” John suppresses a laugh. Dude’s getting nothing from her. Not now, not ever. He turns back to the party and resumes his covert activities.

* * *

  


Holly dismisses Harry and his ego with an annoyed, “Bye!” and picks up the phone. She turns to face the windows as it starts to ring. The wonderful, buoyant “McClane Residence, Lucy McClane speaking!” sounds in her ear and she replies with the customary, “Hello, Lucy McClane, this is your mother speaking.”

“Mommy!” Right on cue. “When are you coming home?”

“Pretty soon,” she lies. “You’ll be in bed when I get there, though. Let me talk to Paulina, okay, honey? And no snooping around the house for presents!”

“You, know, those boys are really nice. They’re weird, but I like them.” Lucy puts in before asking, “Is Daddy coming home with you?” Holly’s smile drops just a little.

“Well, we’ll see what Santa and Mommy can do, okay? Put Paulina on. Bye, honey!”

“Paulina!” Lucy calls. Holly waits a couple seconds before the usual, “Hola, Mrs. Holly.” comes over the phone. Suddenly, she’s at a loss for words.

“Um,” she says, “Did Mr. McClane call?”

“No, Mrs. Holly, no telefono.” Holly’s heart sinks, but she tries to put on a brave face.

“Well he probably just didn't have time before his flight. Um, it might be a good idea to make up the spare bedroom, just in case.”

“Si, Mrs. Holly, I do that already.” Holly smiles.

“How are those boys?”

“Bueno. They get along well with Jack and Lucy. They’re playing right now.” Holly sighs with relief.  


“How long did you say they’d be staying?”

“I do not know, Mrs. Holly, but until their father is done with his job, they will stay with me.”

“Well, don’t hesitate to bring them around if they stay.”

“Si, Mrs. Holly.”

“What would I do without you, Paulina?” She hangs up the phone and internally berates her husband for leaving them hanging like this. She slams their family photo face down on the desk.

* * *

  


John McClane steps off the plane in Los Angeles and walks past the baggage claim where attractive couples are reuniting everywhere. He doesn't deny himself a few suggestive glances, but stops himself before he gets anywhere Sister Theresa would rap him on the knuckles for. “California,” he mutters under his breath. He shoulders Lucy’s giant teddy bear and continues on until he sees his name on a white sheet of paper. Huh. They think of everything, don’t they? He approaches the driver.

“Hey, I’m John McClane.”

The guy looks at him awkwardly and says, “Argyle. I’m your limo driver.” He pauses and shifts nervously. “Nice bear.”

“Okay, Argyle. What do we do now?”

He takes off his sunglasses and fidgets some more, “I was, uh, hoping you could tell me. It’s my first time driving a limo.”

“Aww, It’s okay, It’s my first time riding in one.” Argyle visibly relaxes and they walk to the car. John puts the bear in the back seat and opts to sit up front. He’s more comfortable there. And Argyle doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems almost relieved. They get moving. Argyle gets to talking. About everything. From the stuff they “got in this mug” to the gorgeous ‘67 Impala he almost sideswiped that morning. “I’m so glad I didn't. That thing was a piece of art, man!”

John lights up a cigarette and settles in, letting Argyle’s chatter distract him from the anxiety of seeing his wife for the first time in six months.

“...Or is he married?” great. Now he’ll have to talk about it. John sighs and answers, “He’s married.” Oi. This’ll be one long limo ride.

* * *

  


Across town, in a small abandoned house, there’s a meeting going on.

Well. Meeting is putting it mildly. A more appropriate term might be...sales transaction.

Thirteen men gather around a small table and chant over a bowl of various disgusting ingredients. The leader, a suave looking gentleman in an expensive suit, strikes a match and drops it in the bowl. Not two seconds later, black smoke floods the room and crams itself down the man's throat.

The twelve remaining witches look expectantly to their now possessed leader. He smiles. "Gentlemen," he says, "shall we begin?" The group visibly relaxes. All according to plan, then.   

They go over the plan in minute detail and the demon points out different checkpoints on a set of blueprints. He rolls his shoulders and sighs. This would be so much easier if he could use his demonic power.

But no.

They have to do this the human way. The Master Plan depends on it. One little slip up and he'll lose his Special Project. He's still working off that last fuck up with that hunter mommy in 1983. What was her name? Right. Winchester. Whatever. He's gotta do this one by the book. No more firebombing. Or Alastair and Lilith get "creative". Damn unprofessional if you ask him. 

He refocuses his energy onto the blueprint of the building and makes a couple little changes to the humans' plan. Honestly, it wasn't bad to begin with. Just a few tweaks and Boom! 

The body of Hans Gruber smiles and the demon inside suppresses a laugh. Even doing this the human way, it’ll be easier than- well- taking the humanity from a human. His eyes flick yellow as he gives the order to move out.

* * *

  


“So your lady sees you, you run into each other's arms, the music comes up, and you live happily ever after, right?”

John drops his cigarette and squashes it with his toe. “I can live with that.”

“So, if it doesn't work out, man, you gotta place to stay?” Argyle’s voice is suddenly sympathetic.

“I’ll find a place.” He replies. John can feel the ‘I've been there, man’ vibe pound into the back of his skull.

“Tell you what; I’mma pull into the parking garage and I’ll wait. You score, you give me a call on the car phone. I’ll take your bags to the desk. You strike out, I’ll getcha a hotel.” He hands John his card.

“You’re alright, Argyle.”

“Just remember that when you sign for the tip.” They shake hands. John smiles and heads inside.

The lobby is ridiculously fancy. He supposes he shouldn't expect any different. He approaches the desk and types McClane into the uppity touchscreen computer. Nothing pops up. He types in Gennaro, her maiden name. Oh. There it is. “Christ,” he mutters under his breath. He taps her name and the screen directs him to the thirtieth floor. He asks the desk attendant who points him in the direction of the party, “They’re the only ones left in the building. Take the express elevator. Get off when you hear the noise.”  


“Thanks.” John heads toward the elevator and can’t help but be impressed by the high end security. Out of habit, he checks all possible escape routes before stepping into the elevator. Once inside, he can’t help but shake the feeling that something’s up. Trouble tends to follow John McClane like a lost puppy and this all seems too easy. No way Argyle’s happily ever after fantasy just happens. Not to him.

* * *

  


John Winchester can’t help but glance at the elevator bay whenever the bell dings. This time, a road weary man with a coat slung over his arm and a pistol under his jacket -cop, he thinks- steps out and looks around with the same kind of disgust that must’ve been on his own face. Seriously, though, these idiots _are_  friggin' lightweights. The man takes a swig of warm champagne and almost spits it out. John suppresses a laugh. The cop sets it down and makes his way to Mr. Takagi who greets him warmly and leads him towards the hallway with the offices. John feels his waistband for his own pistol and the silver knife at his ankle. Anything else he might need is tucked in his duffel in one of the hall closets. Not to mention the sigils, spells, and exorcisms he’s got scribbled on his arm.

He’s distracted by one of the more happy drunks who comes up and gives him a sloppy wet kiss right on the jaw. John wipes the spit off his cheek and looks in bewilderment after the man and can’t help but notice that the string quartet has finally moved on from Handel to Beethoven. A door slams. He looks back to see Holly Gennaro walk frustratedly from her office. She catches him looking at her and glares daggers. He averts his gaze and hopes she’ll just brush it off. She does.  


Holly moves from the hallway to the balcony and clears her throat to make a speech.  


John ducks into the hallway to avoid her gaze and glances up again as the elevator bell rings again. Five automatic rifle barrels peek around the corner and John sucks in a breath. He grabs for his pistol and fumbles at the office door behind him. He steps inside and shuts it, clicking the safety off as he goes. He turns to rest his back against the door frame.

“What the fuck?!” a gruff voice erupts from the bathroom door. It’s the cop from the elevator. He’s shed his jacket and shirts. He’s even taken off his shoes. All he’s got on are an undershirt and pants. John lifts his hand to shush him frantically. The cop rips his pistol from the shoulder holster on the bathroom counter and aims it at him. John wrestles with the instinct to fight back and clicks the safety back on his own pistol. He slowly lifts his in a surrender and tries frantically to explain, “No, wait. I’m taking cover. I swear to God I didn't know you were in here.”  
“Taking cover from what?”

“Outside. There’s-” The spray of machine gun fire cuts him off. The cop shoves him out of the way and cracks the door open. Screams echo from the atrium. Doors start slamming. Shit. They’re going room by room collecting hostages. Damn. These guys are professionals. John thinks fast and grabs the cop by the shoulder. “There’s a service staircase right next door.” The cop doesn't need to be told twice. John snaps the safety off again and covers him. They make a beeline down the hall and sprint up the staircase. There are hostiles on the 31st floor so they make for the next floor. This one is still under construction The cop picks up a construction phone and slams it down. Dead. He looks around frantically, obviously running through protocol right now. The Marine in his own head is doing the same thing.

John takes a few seconds of his own to panic. This doesn't feel right. This was supposed to be a monster thing. The thing that killed Mary. This was not supposed to be a human thing. He can deal with monsters. People are a completely different story.

He looks his new found buddy in arms up and down and takes a deep breath. This isn't the first thing to go screwy on a hunt and it certainly won’t be the last. First things first, though. Find out who you’re dealing with.

John extends his hand, “John Winchester, USMC.”

The cop gives him a bemused smile before taking the proffered hand, “John McClane, NYPD. **”**


	3. All Through the House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait, guys! I'm the slowest writer on the planet.   
> Title taken from "Twas the Night before Christmas"

For all its glory and high-end security, the Nakatomi Plaza is surprisingly easy to break into. Azazel assumes it’s because he’s a demon and he knows the value of patience. Or maybe it’s because Gruber’s a meticulous man who plans everything down to the exact detail and has back up plans for his back up plans. More importantly, he knows how to work the system against itself. Azazel has no problem letting Gruber take the reins for most of this idiocy.

He enjoys the anticipation of the elevator ride up. Relishes the moments of oblivious peace before the first shots ring out. Basks in the panic as all the little human scum get corralled into the atrium. Gruber’s team is the best, and these people are idiots. Sometimes humanity is the best tool demonkind could ever ask for.

* * *

 

Holly takes a seat next to Mr. Takagi and watches Ellis pace back and forth trying to calm his coke-addled mind. She rolls her eyes and continues to search for her husband, running through the list of apologies and I love yous and all the things she wished she’d been able to say over the phone these last six months. John is nowhere to be seen and she pushes the rising panic back down in her gut, hoping she won’t find him dead on the floor of the bathroom. She forces her thoughts to the actions at hand and focuses on the guy in charge. He’s tall with an expensive suit and well groomed hair. He looks...off. Not quite bored and not quite excited. The gunmen are professional and have the same looks on their faces. Bored with anticipation.

The leader draws a leather bound notebook from his breast pocket and flips through, giving an annoyed, “Ladies and Gentlemen,” in a German accent. “Ladies and Gentlemen!” The crowd goes silent. He reads from the book, the German fading to a crisp, learned British,“Due to the Nakatomi Corporation’s legacy of greed around the globe, they’re about to be taught a lesson in the real use of power. You will be witnesses.” He snaps the book closed and ventures into the crowd as he continues, “Now, where is Mr. Takagi?”

Beside her, Mr. Takagi moves to get up. He can be as suicidal as John sometimes if he thinks it’ll save anyone. She puts a hand on his arm and whispers, “Don’t move.”

“Joseph Yoshinobu Takagi. Born, Kyoto 1937. Family emigrated to San Pedro, California 1939. Interned at Manzanar 1942 and 43. Scholarship student University of California 1955. Law degree, Stanford 1962. MBA, Harvard 1970. President Nakatomi Trading, Vice Chairman Nakatomi Investment Group-”

“Enough,” Takagi stands.

“And father of five.”

“I am Takagi.”

“How do you do?” The leader relaxes and gives a disarming smile. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” The gunmen usher her boss away and Holly is left alone with a panicked group of drunks and nothing to do but worry and think. She tries not to think about not being able to see her kids again. She’ll be home soon. She made a promise to her little girl. She would come home.

* * *

 

Paulina’s first clue that something is off with the Winchester boys is after they finish their pie. They go into the living room and she’s able to catch snatches of their conversation as little Sam grows more and more restless. “My dreams. They’re coming true, Dean!” She expects the older boy to retort with a smart-alec comment, but he doesn’t. He promises not to let the monsters get him. Paulina brushes it off as their hard childhood and resolves to talk to John about it when he gets back.

The second thing that tips her off comes after Lucy answers Holly’s dinner call. Sam goes stalk still and listens to every word. Dean fixes his gaze on his little brother and doesn’t move until Sam snaps out of it. “Sammy. You good?” Sam nods. Paulina’s not sure Dean believes him. She’s not sure she does either. Things settle down and the boys play with Jack and Lucy. but Paulina can’t shake the weird feelings she’s getting.

After dinner, Dean insists on helping with the dishes. She takes the opportunity to try and talk with him. He doesn’t fall for it. He’s a nine year old. He shouldn’t be this guarded. He shouldn’t be a mother figure to his five year old brother. But he is. Paulina doesn’t want to push him away so she leaves him with a, “You talk to me if you need anything, Dean. Sam too.” She settles in the living room and opens a book while the kids play around the tree, trying to guess where the presents are.

Sam starts crying half an hour later. He doesn’t stop. Dean holds him helplessly and looks at Paulina with big, green eyes that remind her of his mother. John was right, she thinks. As Sam sobs, she begins to pick out words. “It’s happening. Daddy’s not...Daddy...Make it stop…”

But it doesn’t stop. Not until Sam lets out an agonizing scream and passes out.

* * *

 

John McClane can see by the way John Winchester walks that he is (or was) indeed military. Marine by the way he holds his weapon. Even so, he takes nothing for granted and keeps him close. Winchester doesn’t argue. They take a quick recon of all the floors above them. Construction, computers, offices. They peek out one door to see a group of terrorists (what else do you call them?) rolling a cart of missile launchers through the hallway. They dart back downstairs to make a plan and wind up back on the 32nd floor. A tall man with an expensive suit steps out of the private elevator followed by three gunmen and Mr. Takagi. He hums the finale to Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony as he comes to a stop in front of a model of the Nakatomi Plaza and says in a posh German accent, “And when Alexander saw the breadth of his domain, he wept for there were no more worlds to conquer.” He turns to Takagi, “Benefits of a Classical education. Oh, now that’s beautiful.” The man’s attention is drawn towards the model of a bridge and he begins to wax lyrical on the precision and detail. Takagi sees an opening and jumps at it, “Is that what this is all about, our project in Indonesia? Contrary to what you people may think, we are going to develop that region, not exploit it.”

“I believe you. I read the article in Forbes.” Sarcasm drips from the man’s voice as he ushers Takagi into the conference room.

McClane and Winchester cover each other on their way into the office and dive under the model of the bridge, straining their ears to catch a tidbit of the master plan, but to no avail. John knows how this will end. One look at Winchester and it’s obvious that he knows too. He wracks his brain, but can’t come up with anything that won’t get them all killed in the process. They’re helpless here, but God help them, they can’t move. Takagi’s voice raises in indignation and they hear a mention of Tokyo and blackmail followed by an all too power charged, “SIT! DOWN!”

The voices lower again. Just as John thinks Takagi’s going to do the smart thing and surrender, the bright glass door is painted red with his blood.

* * *

 

Joseph Takagi is a good man. A strong man. Azazel hates him for it. The man is adamant about not having the codes they need and Azazel believes him. It makes the prospect of killing him all the more pleasant. Takagi raises his voice and gets frantic. Azazel takes great joy in infusing Gruber’s voice with a little Demonic power, compelling him to “SIT! DOWN!” Takagi’s eyes fill with terror. He begs helplessly as Gruber pulls out his pistol and fits a silencer to it. He sets it on the table and says, matter of factly, “Mr. Takagi, I’m really not interested in your computer. But I need the key to access your vaults. And the computer controls the vaults. There are some very interesting things in there, do you not agree?”

“You want money? What kind of terrorists are you?” Takagi is genuinely surprised now.

Azazel smirks and says in time with Gruber, “Who said anything about terrorists? Or money? Now. I’m going to count to three. There will not be a four. The code, please.”

Takagi realizes his fate, but continues to plead for his life and point out the futility of their endeavor. Azazel smiles, “One.” He does not reach for the gun. “Two.” Theo the computer genius makes a smartass comment to Karl the hired gun and Gruber rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Three.”

“I’m telling you I don’t know it. You’ll have to get on a plane to Tokyo and ask the chairman. You’re just going to have to kill me.”

Azazel pauses for a split second before raising his hand. He lets the smoky yellow of his Demonic eyes overpower Gruber’s and feels Takagi’s terror grow exponentially. He smiles, “Okay.” He snaps his fingers. Mr. Joseph Yoshinobu Takagi is no more. “We’ll do it the hard way.” His loyal followers and employees don’t question him. They just spring into action. A soft scrambling just outside the door draws everyone’s attention away from the gruesome scene before them and Azazel feels Gruber panic just a tiny bit. This was not part of the contingency. They got everyone, didn’t they? The hostages were just stupid businessmen, right? Azazel calms Gruber with the reassurance that even though he is only human, Azazel is not. Surely he couldn’t miss something like that.

Karl’s return fulfills his suspicions. It was nothing. Nothing at all.

* * *

 

McClane and Winchester barge back onto the 33rd floor. McClane’s panicking, John can feel it. So is he, just a little, but now he knows. It’s a demon. With yellow eyes. That’s the thing that’s behind all this. And they didn’t stand a chance back there. McClane whirls on him, “Why the fuck didn’t we stop them, John?”

“Cuz then we’d be dead, too, asshole!” John shoots right back. “Think, Goddammit, Think!” Then he remembers. Right. Demon. He prepared for this. He looks up. McClane does too. Perfect. The sprinklers should incapacitate the demon and bring the authorities. Nice and simple. Win win all around for the hunters and the law. McClane picks up John’s vibe and yanks the alarm. Fuck. The sprinklers haven’t been hooked up yet. What kind of company is this? They just lit up their position. He turns to tell McClane to take cover, but the cop is deliriously happy at the sound of fire engines racing up the road, “I’ll kiss yer fuckin’ Dalmatian!” John’s not stupid. He knows there’s not much time before they get ambushed by God knows What.  He pours a few lines of salt across the doorways and in front of the elevator. He wants to try a devil’s trap like Bobby showed him a couple weeks ago, but dammit, he doesn’t want to mess it up and McClane thinks he’s insane anyway.

The fire engines turn around before they even get halfway down the street, much to the chagrin of John McClane who starts yelling and screaming at them to “TURN AROUND YOU STUPID ASSHOLES! NO!”

“John! Shut the fuck up and take cover!” That gets his attention. Winchester ignores the death glare and pulls McClane down behind a stack of pallets. “Listen, dumbass. Do these guys seem like idiots to you? We just pulled a fire alarm. You don’t think they’ve got a contingency for that? We’re sitting ducks now!”

“It was your idea!”  
“Yeah, well I was counting on the sprinklers going off on all the floors. I wasn’t expecting them not to be hooked up at all.” McClane looks at John incredulously.

“Sprinklers? Fucking SPRINKLERS? We’ve got an unknown amount of hostiles runnin’ around with a full arsenal and you’re worried about fucking FIRE SPRINKLERS?! What kinda nut job are you?”

“You know what? Never mind. You wouldn’t believe me anyway.”

“You’re right. But I deserve to know what kinda psycho I’m draggin’ with me through this hellhole.”

John sighs hard and opens his mouth to explain the Life. The elevator dings. The lights flicker on. McClane gives him a set of hand signals and ducks behind a scaffold. John peeks through one of the holes in the stack of pallets and it’s too late to move. A tall blond man in a grey sweatsuit and giant glasses walks around the corner and says in a clipped German accent, “The fire has been called off, my friend. No one is coming to help you.” John moves around the stack as he approaches. “You might as well come out and join the others.” ha! Fat chance, you demonic piece of shit. The German slams a cartridge into his rifle as he says, “I promise I won’t hurt you.” He empties a clip into the space where John had just been not two seconds earlier.

The German’s attention is diverted when a saw starts up in the next room over. He walks right past John who gets up silently and follows. Good. Now they’re on the offensive. This kid has no idea what he just walked into.

“Drop it, dickhead. It’s the police.” McClane snarls. John rolls his eyes. Of course they have to do this according to protocol. The German seems to think so too. “You won’t hurt me.”

“Yeah? Why not?” McClane asks.

“You’re a policeman. There are rules for policemen.”

“You know, that’s what my captain keeps telling me.” Two shots ring out. The German drops dead. McClane looks back at John, surprised. John holsters his gun and moves to retrieve the duffel from around the hostile’s shoulder. McClane waits a beat before kneeling opposite him and frisking the German for anything that might come in handy. “You’re some kinda crazy, you know that?”

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.”  

“No, seriously.  What the fuck, man? What is that over there, salt? Why the fuck are you throwing salt everywhere?”

“You really want me to answer that?”

“Probably not, but do it anyway.”

“All your nightmares are real. Ghosts, Vampires, Werewolves, Demons, all of it.” McClane stops rummaging through the man’s pockets and stares at him.

“The second we get outta here, we’re getting you checked out.”

“Trust me, I’m not crazy.”

“Said every crazy person ever.”

“You don’t have to believe me. You just have to trust that I won’t get you killed.”

“Huh.” McClane gets a really pensive look on his face.

“What?”

“You sound like my wife’s housekeeper, that’s all.”

John doesn’t quite know how to take that so he lets it lie. “We gotta get this guy outta here.”

“We need to do some recon, too.” McClane looks pointedly at the elevator.

“You’re one sadistic bastard, McClane,” John says, pocketing the radio..

“You’re one psycho sonuvabitch, Winchester,” McClane replies, slinging the dead German’s body over his shoulder.

* * *

 

Five minutes later, John McClane fits a santa hat onto the dead guys head while Winchester carves something into his left heel. Like, into the skin. Winchester’s an odd one, that’s for sure. But then again, John just wrote an antagonizing message on a dead guy’s sweatshirt. In blood. He can’t really talk about Winchester’s crazy when he’s got his own to worry about. He grabs for the dead guy’s shoes and tries to shove his bare feet into them. “Christ.”

“Further proof that this guy’s not a demon. What’s the matter?” Winchester looks up from his artwork.

“6 million terrorists in the world and you gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister.”

“You can always use my shoes.”

“Nah, you need ‘em.”

“Suit yourself.” He turns back to the German’s heel.

“You done there, Picasso?”

“Just about.”

“What is that, anyway?”

“Devil’s Trap.”

“Why on the foot? Can’t they just cut it off?”

“Yeah, but they probably won’t look too hard at the body anyway. The longer they don’t know there’s a Hunter up here, the better,” he grunts as he slips the shoes back on the dead guy. John mulls it over and eventually concedes, “Eh, wouldn’t hurt our odds if they think there’s only one of us. Gimme the radio.” Winchester fishes in his pocket and tosses him the radio. He stands up and wipes his hands on the Santa hat. “Ready.” John cups his hands and gives Winchester a boost up to the escape hatch then hands up the filched supplies. He punches the button for the 30th floor and grabs Winchester’s hands to haul himself up as the elevator goes down. It dings just as the metal grate slides into place. They can hear the leader giving a speech to the hostages out there and John has to forcibly keep his mind off the fact that his wife is out there, and God, what happens to the kids if neither of them make it out of here tonight?

* * *

 

“Unfortunately, Mister Takagi did not see it that way, so he will not be joining us for the rest of his life.” Azazel tries not to let the horrified gasps in the crowd bring too much joy and satisfaction to his face as he snaps the little black book shut. His gaze sweeps the crowd of hostages and he makes eye contact with the one person who does not seem afraid. He’s only ever seen her strength of will in one other person and that had been a few years ago on a completely different assignment. He can’t help but be fascinated by her. Very few humans have this sort of strength about them. Azazel makes a mental note not to underestimate this woman and is just about to have her brought to one of the offices when a shrill scream interrupts his thoughts.

  
The elevator door is open. Inside is the body of one of his men. Karl’s brother, if he isn’t mistaken.  Shot in the back, double-tap to the heart. A skilled marksman, then. Smart, too, if he got the drop on one of the deadliest hired guns in Europe. He pulls on the end of the ratty grey sweatshirt and reads aloud, “Now I have a machine gun. Ho Ho Ho.” Azazel grimaces at the man’s sense of humor. Or lack thereof. Dammit. This. This is where human ingenuity fails. In the face of more human fucking ingenuity. It’s times like this where he just wants to throw the rules out the window and find this sonuvabitch himself. His way. Damn this coven of German witches and their stupid fucking leader. But no. The goddamn Plan follows this exact fucking route. Any deviation from the plan and Azazel gets booted off his Special Project. Any sign that this was more than “humans being fucked up” and Alastair and Lilith start getting creative. A quick shot of panic through his mind reminds him that, oh yeah. Gruber can’t take the Demon’s heat. Literally. He takes a deep breath and calms himself just a bit before looking back into the atrium. Mostly everyone is panicked and jittery. Except one. She just meets his gaze and murmurs to the pregnant lady next to her. Azazel files that information away with the fact that there’s now a wrench in the works. He needs to keep her under control. Seriously. The last time he lost control of a human female, he’d almost lost his special kids. He turns to Gruber’s Lieutenant and tells him to get Karl down here. He analyzes the body carefully and takes note of the missing items. The machine gun, the duffel bag with the C4 and the detonators (GODDAMMIT!) one radio, and his shoelaces. Huh. The guy’s smart, Azazel will give him that. And cocky.  Okay, he can use that. He reaches for a spare radio and slides it into his pocket. Time to work this human ingenuity against itself. 


End file.
